Chapter 54

~ Octavia ~

The grand ballroom of the Flemington Tower was a sea of shimmering gold and cold ambition.

It was the fiftieth anniversary of the Flemington Group, a milestone that felt more like a sentence to me. I wasn’t there for the brand, and I certainly wasn’t there for Franklin. I was there for Frederick.

But public perception is a ruthless beast. To the world, I was still the Mrs. Flemington. To play the part, I had to wear the weight of my past—the heavy wedding band and the engagement ring that felt like a shackle against my skin.

I arrived early, hoping to find a moment of peace before the vultures of the press descended. Frederick spotted me immediately, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. He rushed over, pulling me into a fierce bear hug.

"You came," he whispered, stepping back to kiss both my cheeks. "I was worried you’d changed your mind."

"I couldn’t disappoint you, Frederick. Not after everything."

"Regardless, I’m thrilled. You look exquisite." He paused, his eyes shifting behind me. "Ah, speaking of the man of the hour..."

I turned, and my breath hitched. Franklin was walking toward us, dressed in a sharp white tuxedo that looked like it belonged on a high-fashion cover. His hair was slicked back, highlighting the sharp, masculine lines of his face. He was undeniably handsome—a fact that irritated me to my core.

"Hey, Grandpa," Franklin said, nodding to Frederick before his gaze settled on me.

"Octavia. You’re here."

"I’m here for your grandfather," I said, my voice flat.

"I’m glad you made it," he replied, though it sounded more like a strategic victory than a genuine sentiment.

"Of course you are. I’m a great prop for the cameras."

Frederick was pulled away by the chairman of Nova Corp, leaving me alone in the center of the storm with Franklin.

"So, where’s Clinton?" Franklin asked, his voice dripping with taunting curiosity. "I thought he’d be your date for the evening."

"He has better things to do than stand around in a room full of egos. He wanted to come, but I refused. I didn’t want my personal life to overshadow your grandfather’s night. Unlike you, I actually care about his feelings."

Franklin gave a dark, low chuckle. "I have a heart, Octavia."

"Really? Show me. Because from where I’m standing, it’s just a mass of black goo." I poked a finger at his chest, right over his heart.

He didn’t flinch. He just smiled. "You’re still upset. I get it."

"Upset?" I hissed. "Why are you acting like you didn’t hurt me? Like I don’t have a thousand reasons to want a divorce? Does any of that register in that head of yours?"

Before he could answer, a photographer scurried over.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flemington! A quick photo for the morning edition? The public is dying to see the golden couple."

"We’d love to," Franklin said smoothly, before I could utter a protest.

He stepped behind me, his hand sliding firmly around my waist. The heat of his palm through my dress felt like a brand. He pulled me back against his chest, his breath warm against my ear.

"Stay still, Octavia. Smile for the fans."

My heart hammered against my ribs. We took the standard shots, but when I tried to pull away, his grip tightened, anchoring me to him.

"Thank you," the photographer said, checking his digital screen. He looked up, hesitant. "Could I... would you mind a shot of you two kissing? It would be a perfect headline."

"I don’t think—" I started.

"Sure," Franklin interrupted. He turned me in his arms, forcing me to face him.

"Franklin, no," I whispered, a desperate frown forming.

"Pretend to be happy," he gritted out through a fixed smile. "It’s for the brand."

"I’m with someone else. This looks like cheating."

"Actually, being with him is cheating. You’re still my wife." He didn’t wait for another word. He tilted my chin up and crushed his lips to mine.

It wasn’t a quick peck for the press. It was deep, possessive, and lingering. I hated how well I remembered the taste of him. I hated that his cologne still made my head spin. When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless and shaking.

"Powerful," the photographer muttered, looking impressed.

"We’re very affectionate," Franklin lied, grabbing my hand and squeezing it so hard I couldn’t pull away. "The passion is always there. The kisses, the hugs... the sex. It’s always top-notch. That’s why I love her."

I turned my head away, my face burning with shame as he talked about our false private life like it was a commodity.

The photographer thanked us and hurried off, sensing the sudden drop in temperature.

I jerked my hand back the moment he was out of sight. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Taunting me."

"I’m just giving the audience what they want, honey."

"No, you’re making my life a nightmare. The kiss, the touching, the fake talk about our ’amazing’ sex life—it ends now. I won’t let it happen again."

"It will happen as long as you bear my name, Octavia."

"Then sign the fucking papers! If you don’t love me, why are you still fucking holding on?"

I stared at him, desperate for a real answer, but Frederick reappeared before Franklin could speak.

"The ceremony is starting," Frederick beamed, oblivious to the war between us.

"Octavia, dear, please sit with Franklin in the front row. I want the family together for the opening speech."

Franklin grabbed my hand again, his fingers interlaced with mine in a mockery of devotion.

"Of course, Grandpa. We’ll be right there."

He led me to the front row, forcing me down into the seat beside him.

"Franklin, remember what I said," I whispered as the lights dimmed.

"Shh," he hushed me, his eyes fixed on the stage as the crowd began to clap. "My grandfather is starting. Pay attention."

I sat back, my heart heavy and my skin crawling. The event was just beginning, but I already felt like the walls were closing in.

I had no idea how I was going to survive the rest of the night without breaking.